Reflectin’ on a dream I had last night. I am standing in a vast hallway of a swank hotel, people swirling around me in tuxedos and ball gowns. Waiters pass among us carrying trays of full and empty champagne glasses. I seem to be at a gala of some kind, and everyone is trying their best to ignore me, though some glance my way, then whisper behind their hands to the person standing next to them. It could be because I’m wearing not a tux, but a yellow bathing suit covered in bright green frogs with red, electric eyes that flash with the beat as I begin singing “Roxanne.” I remind a young woman of her options in life vis-à-vis a red light, and then the three penguins with me chime in with “Roxanne” at the refrain. Then, suddenly, there she is, my Roxanne, a woman of such passing beauty that I am startled awake, finding myself once again safe in my own bed, wearing my froggy pajamas. The penguins smell of fish.